by Clare Bell
Ratha found her voice joining Thistle’s wordless cries, as if she could drive the nightmare from her daughter by sheer force of rage. She caught Thistle by the scruff, trying to hold her gently and tenderly as if she were a small cub. When she and her brothers were small, Ratha had carried them that way. She remembered how the wiggling bodies relaxed in her jaws, for the cubs sensed that they were safe.
Thistle only struggled harder, wrenching Ratha’s head back and forth. Ratha tried to soothe and calm her daughter with words, but her mouth was full of Thistle’s fur.
Fessran galloped up, her sandy-colored coat blackened with streaks of soot from the fires she tended. Raising her voice above Thistle’s squalling, Fessran yowled, “Quit the mother stuff, Ratha. It doesn’t work. The only thing to do is get her to the lagoon.” With her jaws she seized Thistle at the root of the tail and began hauling her toward a briny pool that lay behind the upper beach. Ratha, her mouth full of fur and her head swimming from being jerked back and forth, followed Fessran’s tugging.
Together they got Thistle over the sand and into the pool. Fearing that her daughter would drown while in the fit, Ratha held Thistle’s head up, but Fessran told her to let go.
“She’ll lift her nose to breathe. Just leave her alone. The water calms her. I don’t know why, but it works.”
Ratha knew that Fessran was right. As soon as the pool had wetted Thistle’s flank, she relaxed and stopped fighting. Now she drifted, looking like an orange-splotched brown sea otter. Ratha waited to see that she did lift her nose to take breaths and only then did she leave her daughter and wade to shore with Fessran.
She permitted herself one angry swipe at the ripples crossing the lagoon, jealous that its waters could soothe Thistle when she could not. Then she shook herself hard, sending spray flying in all directions.
“Come on,” said Fessran.
Ratha stayed silent, looking at Thistle.
Fessran nudged her. “I know you are angry. Be angry somewhere else.”
Fessran’s suggestion wasn’t the most helpful, but Ratha couldn’t think of an alternative. When they had gone a short distance from the pool, Ratha flopped down on her side. Wanting comfort, she wished she had her treeling, but she had left Ratharee safely hidden, just in case something like this should happen. Fessran sat down, curling her tail about her feet.
“She will be all right?” Ratha asked.
“Every time she gets one of those fits, Thakur drags her over and throws her in. Sometimes Thistle gets herself in when she feels it coming on. This one must have been too sudden.”
Ratha lay, trying not to resent the fact that Fessran and Thakur knew more about Thistle than she did. Her tail flipped irritably.
“Are you angry at me?” Fessran asked.
“No.”
“At her?”
“Yes and no. It isn’t her fault that she has fits. Thakur says that now they don’t come as often, but I hate seeing her in them. And when I come to visit, she seems uneasy.”
“Well,” said Fessran slowly, “it is still hard for her to be near you.”
“If I were her I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near me,” Ratha said bitterly. “I wouldn’t want to be near a mother who had attacked and bitten me for something I could not help. If I hadn’t been so reckless and cruel ...”
“Before you pull out more of your own fur,” Fessran said, “let me tell you one thing.”
“What?”
“Young ones can be stupid.”
“That doesn’t justify what I did. She might have been slow-witted, but—”
Fessran interrupted. “I’m not talking about Thistle. I’m talking about you. You had those cubs when you were scarcely more than a cub yourself.” She paused. “You were young. Young ones can be stupid. They haven’t had time to learn or they are too impatient. You bit Thistle because you were young. You are older now. You wouldn’t do it again.”
Ratha opened her mouth to make a retort, then closed it again. Fessran gave her a quizzical look and said, a bit smugly, “These things are all simple when you turn them around the right way. It’s like learning to open a herdbeast carcass. You have to start at the right place.”
“Only you would say it that way,” Ratha grumbled, laying her nose on the sand.
“Only you would need to hear it that way, clan leader,” Fessran answered lightly, nibbling crusted sand from one paw. “Do you feel better?”
“I should say I feel worse, just to spite you.” Ratha eyed her friend. “But I do feel better.”
Fessran stood up and shook herself off again, peering down the beach. Ratha remembered that she had been watching Mishanti while Thistle did her leg stretching.
“I made him sit down and told him to stay there,” Fessran said. “I have no doubt that he is now tearing all over the beach. I am beginning to think that his ears have no connection to the inside of his head.” With a sigh, she added, “I had better go and look for him.”
“Wait,” Ratha said as she saw a puff of dust rise from the cliff where the path ran down to the beach. “He might be up there.” She stared harder. “No. That’s someone else.”
Fessran joined her in squinting at the path. “They’re certainly in a hurry, judging by all the dust being kicked up. Or clumsy. No, both—that’s my son Khushi up on the trail.”
Khushi! Ratha had sent him off many days ago with Bira and Thakur to find the face-tailed beasts. What had happened to bring him back so soon? Her ears swiveled forward as she watched Khushi skitter around one bend after another on the switchbacks of the trail. Soon he was down on the beach, bounding over the dunes.
“Clan leader!” he cried as he slid to a stop. “Thakur sent me with a message.”
“Is he well? Is Bira well?”
“Yes, they are both fine. We found the face-tailed beasts you sent us after. But we also found another tribe of clan-cats. That is why Thakur sent me back.”
“Another clan like us?” Ratha stared at him.
Khushi’s words spilled out in a breathless rush. “Well, Thakur thinks they may turn out to be like us, although they are hunters and not herders. He has been having trouble trying to talk to them, and that is why he wants you to come. He wants Thistle-chaser as well.”
Ratha had him repeat the last part, not sure that she had heard him correctly. Thistle? Was Khushi sure that was who Thakur wanted?
“Yes. He made it very clear and he was very insistent. I don’t know why he wants her, but he does.”
Baffled, she asked Khushi other questions, all the while trying to figure out why Thakur wanted Thistle.
Unless he wants her there just because he is fond of her, Ratha thought. No. Thakur doesn’t do things for those sorts of reasons.
Fessran spotted Mishanti far down the beach and took off after him, leaving Ratha standing beside Khushi.
“My mother,” the young scout said with a grin. “She always complains about how much work it is to raise cubs, but she can’t seem to live without at least one.”
“One Mishanti is all anyone can manage.” Ratha watched Fessran’s efforts to corral the youngster. She began pacing down the beach, Khushi beside her. “How did Thakur find this other clan?”
“They were also hunting the face-tailed beasts.”
“Are these strangers like us?”
“I don’t think so, but they resemble us enough that Thakur and I were able to go in among them. They even have a language like ours. Thakur said he could understand their words.”
“Then why couldn’t he speak to them?” Ratha asked, puzzled.
“I don’t know. They said things that made no sense. His replies only confused them and made them angry.”
This surprised Ratha. Of all the Named, Thakur was the most sensitive and the least likely to commit a blunder that might offend a stranger.
They trotted up to Fessran, who was sitting on a squirming Mishanti. Khushi touched noses with his mother, but seeing that she was preoccupied, kept his greeting
short.
Ratha told him to go back up to the cliff dens and get something to eat, for he looked hungry. At her words Khushi brightened and scampered back up the path. He was a good scout, Ratha thought. Even though he must have traveled a long way, he hadn’t eaten before he came down to the beach to find her.
Fessran freed a rather flattened and rumpled Mishanti.
“You keep blaming yourself for Thistle’s fits,” she said to Ratha when Khushi was gone, “but I think this little scamp here is another cause. He must drive Thistle a bit wild. I can handle him, but I’ve had much more experience raising litters than Thistle.”
“She wanted to adopt him,” Ratha said.
“I know, and she is keeping to the agreement we made, but I know that she has been tempted to do more than sit on him. One thing she definitely has from you is your temper.”
Ratha grimaced at her friend’s bluntness. “She hasn’t bitten him yet.”
“No. She’s the one who gets bitten. By that nightmare of hers.” Fessran put a paw on the cub, who had started to creep away, tempted by some gulls nearby. “I told her that if she felt she was going to lose her temper with him, she should come to me. And she has. Several times. But I can’t come to the beach as often, especially now in the rainy season. The Firekeepers need my help to keep the fires lit.”
“She’s not a clan member, Fessran,” Ratha said in a low voice. “I can’t order her to do anything, even if I feel it is for her own good.”
“Well, she should get away from this little mischief maker, at least for a while. Tell her that I’ll get someone to look after him so that you can take her to Thakur.”
The tip of Ratha’s tail twitched in annoyance. “I can’t take her anywhere unless she chooses to go. I doubt if she will. She hates to leave the beach.”
“Well, Thakur gave you quite a task, then, didn’t he,” said Fessran.
“Just take care of Mishanti, Singe-whiskers.”
Fessran grinned back. “Go chase a thistle, clan leader.”
Leaving her friend with Mishanti, Ratha paced back along the beach to bring Thakur’s request to her daughter.
* * *
As Ratha approached Thistle’s pool, her steps began to slow. Thistle was not the only one with reasons to deny Thakur’s wish. Ratha herself was reluctant to take Thistle along.
Suppose she falls into a fit and goes wild when Thakur is trying to talk to those new clan-cats. Surely he has thought of that problem. Why, then, does he want Thistle to come?
Thistle also had some deep disagreements with the Named about such things as capturing new animals for the clan’s herds. What if she decided that face-tails as well as seamares should be left alone? Ratha remembered the trouble Thistle caused when she freed the seamares that the Named had captured.
To her chagrin, Ratha had to admit that Thistle was right about seamares. The web-footed, horselike beasts would never have thrived if the Named had tried to treat them the same as their other herdbeasts. Seamares needed the freedom of the open ocean.
Near the lagoon were several low dunes. Thistle was still in the lagoon. Ratha settled on the crest of the nearest dune, waiting for her to come out.
She watched her daughter glide around the pool with easy strokes of paws and tail. All of the Named could swim if they had to, but Thistle appeared more at home in the water than on land. Ratha had seen Thistle follow the seamares when they plunged into the ocean.
At last Thistle waded out of the lagoon and shook herself. She looked worn, as she often did after such episodes. Hesitantly Ratha came to her and touched noses.
“Fessran still is with Mishanti?” Thistle asked.
“Yes. She can keep him for a while yet.”
“Don’t want him now. Later. Still shaky.”
Thistle settled on her belly in the crusty sand. She slitted her eyes and tucked her forepaws under her chest. Afraid that she might go to sleep, Ratha said hurriedly, “While you were in your pool, Khushi came back with a message from Thakur.”
Thistle’s milky-green eyes opened wide. “He came back soon?”
“No, he wants us to join him. Both you and me.”
“Why?”
Ratha repeated what Khushi had told her.
Thistle turned her nose toward the sea. “Home is here. Seamares are here. Mishanti is here. Thakur knows that.”
“I know he does. That he has asked you to come means that it is very important to him.”
“Help him talk to other clan-cats? Not clever at talking.”
“I don’t think that it is cleverness he needs,” Ratha said.
“What, then?”
“I don’t know. We won’t find out until we get there.”
Thistle’s face took on a stubborn expression. “Hard for me to leave. Thakur knows that,” she said again.
Feeling slightly annoyed, Ratha was about to point out how much Thakur had done for Thistle and that she owed him this if nothing else. But she bit back the words. The decision was up to Thistle herself. Trying to sway her would do no good.
“Thakur wants me,” Thistle said abruptly. “Do you want me?”
A quick yes would be an easily detected lie. Ratha decided to take the honest but more difficult route. “I can’t say that there won’t be any problems. Having you along will be difficult in some ways. You know why. All I can say is that I will give you every chance I can.” She paused. “I will ask you to do the same for me.”
“Can’t answer now. Have to talk to sea first,” Thistle said.
“The sea?” This was one of her daughter’s eccentricities that Ratha had not yet run into.
“I swim out with seamares. Waves break over my ears and tell me things.” Thistle got up. Letting her eyes meet Ratha’s briefly, she said, “You come here tomorrow. What waves tell me, I will do.”
Ratha knew she would have to be content with that. With a quick nose-touch, she parted from her daughter and trotted back along the beach to where Fessran was playing tag with Mishanti.
Fessran halted her game. “What did Thistle say?”
“She has to ask the sea first,” Ratha said, a little sourly. She couldn’t help letting Fessran know by her tone that she thought Thistle’s reply was a bit on the strange side.
“Oh, all she means is that she’ll go for a dive with the seamares and think it over. She has a funny way of putting things sometimes. I find it refreshing.”
Ratha sighed as Fessran plunged back into her game with Mishanti.
“Well, I hope the sea tells her what I want to hear,” Ratha grumbled to herself, and headed up the trail to get her treeling.
Chapter Three
Thistle waited until Ratha had left the beach. She got up, shook off the sand crusted on her belly, and paced over the dunes toward the seamares’ cove. On the way, she passed Fessran, who was still playing tag with Mishanti.
“I’ll keep him if you want to nap for a while,” Fessran called to her.
“Sleep enough. Swim again. With seamares. Will get Mishanti later.”
Fessran waved her tail in agreement. Thistle watched her chase Mishanti. The Firekeeper leader had a reputation for being acerbic and hard to approach, but Thistle found her easier to be with than Ratha.
Perhaps it was because Fessran had also been hurt. She had scars in the sandy fur on her upper foreleg. She had said that someone with very long teeth had bitten her there. There were scars on both the inside and outside of the leg. The teeth had gone right through.
Wonder if teeth hurt her the way Dreambiter hurt me.
From the beach, Thistle crossed onto a series of sandstone ledges beneath the cliffs. She made her way down through the tidepools until she reached the seamares’ cove.
There they all were, basking in the sun. Some lay on their bellies with their horselike heads outstretched and their tusks digging into the sand. Others sprawled on their backs or sides, sometimes flipping sand over themselves with a webbed foot.
She lifted her whiskers. S
he liked seamares. There was something comfortable about their tubby bodies and the way they lumbered and lolled about on land. Their raucous greeting chorus when she walked through the herd and the friendly bumps and swishes she got from their heads and tails made her feel accepted among them.
And she knew a secret about the seamares that nobody else had discovered. On land the creatures were ungainly and clumsy, but in the sea they became beautiful—elegant, streamlined shapes that slipped through the undersea dimness, leaving only a silvery trail of bubbles.
Many creatures of the shore were like that, finding their true beauty in the sea. Perhaps, Thistle mused, she was like that, too. Even though her leg was much better, she could still swim better than she could walk.
She could tell by the dryness of the seamares’ velvety fur that they hadn’t yet gone on their daily foraging expedition in the ocean. Either she had come at just the right moment or they had waited for her.
Joy surged through Thistle as she trotted into the surf in the midst of the herd of lumbering, hooting seamares. She breasted the incoming swells as they did, then ducked under and swam with powerful strokes of her hind feet. Like the seamares, she used her forelimbs to steer.
Sometimes she wondered if she really was a seamare, somehow born into the wrong body.
The only place she could not follow the herd was down to the ocean floor, where they foraged for shellfish. She had learned that neither her chest nor her ears could withstand the pressure, so while the seamares dove to forage, she remained on the surface. She could act as lookout, spotting any enemies that might come. And at the same time she could think out things that were troubling her.
It was easier for Thistle to think while drifting at the top of the ocean, while being rhythmically lifted and lowered by the swells. Everything seemed clearer out here. The mist that often clouded her mind vanished with the brilliance of the sun on the water.
